Only For You
by MelodiousNocturnee
Summary: A bit of late night Clintasha for ya'll.
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry this isn't so great ;3; I'm super tired and have major writers block so cut me some slack D;**

_**~Only For You~**_

* * *

The wind whipped past, trying, daring to break his gaze, damper that ever so smug grin he pulled off so well. You couldn't see it, not that you could even see _him_, (he seemed to find solace atop the towering glass giants that cast their colossal shadows over New York City) but through those thick, glossy, black glasses you hardly ever saw him without, his glacier blue eyes that would do nothing less than mystify you even further, were set on one thing. No, one _person._ The only person that ever mattered to him. That ever did and that ever will; Natasha Romanoff. This was routine for him. Every day as she walked to her shitty office job they (both knew she was worth way more than), he'd just watch her pass by. In his eyes, there was no one else on that street. Just her. She outshone everyone and anyone else. Even those Playboy chicks everyone thought he loved so much. He'd never tell you this but that was just a cheap façade. He didn't care for any of them, not since he first laid eyes on Natasha.

"Damnit." He sighed as the Power Rangers tone belted out of his iPhone which currently read 'Get your ass to work Clint. Pronto'. After saving the world from the calamity that lied in a vengeful Loki's wake, the Avengers had pretty much put themselves out of a job. It isn't often that someone claiming to be a 'God' threatens mass genocide. Well, uh, not according to the NYPD but I'll bet you anything the majority don't have a tesseract. Don't misunderstand, S.H.I.E.L.D aren't tight-asses who don't bother to reward the team for saving the world, in fact, they paid more than triple Clint's weight in cash. But alas, they chose to work. Each one of them, aside from Thor (every time someone asked him in an interview what he thought his most valuable attribute was, he'd always give the same answer "The power to strike down any foe with my mighty hammer! Would you not agree, mortal?" In that same vigorous tone that never seemed to falter. It's a tough world for a Norse God out there, you know). They didn't do it for the money but for the normality; to blend in; to be a functioning part of society. Sure, the Avengers _were_ the front page of every newspaper that no one ever bothered to read for almost a year but America, no, _everyone_ just stopped caring after a while. It eventually happens with everything. Sure, they still get the occasional kid wanting them to sign their cheap, plastic Iron Man helmet or Hawkeye bow bought at the local walmart, produced by Hasbro. So on and so fourth. But generally, they were left alone to their live their own lives. Of course, they were all an inseparable group of friends and often 'hung out' and Tony's place. But Clint knew it, they all knew it, there was a sense of relief from not having to put your ass on the line 24/7.

He propped himself up from his crouching position on the ledge of the building, wiped the sweat off his brow, adjusted the collar on his expensive looking leather jacket and jumped. Right off the side and landed with small impact on the roof of a much smaller building below the one prior.

"Damn, Clint, you need to work out more. That _almost _hurt." He murmured to himself, whilst heading through the door masked in yellowed, fractured paint that led into the dull, bland, low budget workspace tiled with suffocatingly tiny cubicles that he liked to think of as his 'own personal prison cell'. The office stank of the aroma of cheap coffee that masked the dense air. Clint slumped down in his office chair and span around a couple of times before he stuck the eraser end of a blunt, HB pencil in his mouth and turned on the outdated, block-like Acer computer that was wired up to a monitor that he'd plastered with multi-coloured sticky notes in his best attempt the spruce the place up a bit and played some old school Super Mario on a Nintendo 64 emulator he'd downloaded. Regardless of the viruses it embedded in the computer as it wasn't his property and therefore not his problem. The only time he'd bother to pause his game was when a member of senior staff walked passed, pretending to check that everything was in order. When in actual fact, he just needed some steaming, liquid energy. In all honesty, no one did any actual work there. Maybe because most of them didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. Especially Clint. But he'd managed to survive two whole months without being fired. A personal record. And he never ceased to admire himself for it.

Twenty two pieces of bland gum that he'd taken from a colleague's desk when they'd gone to the bathroom later and his shift finally ended. This was the part of his day that actually gave him reason to get up in the morning; just seeing Natasha. You wouldn't think it at first glance, but Clint was a man of simplicity; sure, he _longed_ for her to look at him without attempting to analyse his thoughts and his feelings but he didn't mind. He knew she'd constructed those walls too keep people out and her own feelings in. And he didn't want to go knock it down just for his own selfish desires. Just her _existing _was more than enough for him. But he never intended to let her know it.

Barton did as he usually did, day in, day out, (aside from Sundays, he just stayed boxed up in his apartment playing some hardcore Final Fantasy with Wade on the old play station) and scrambled his way through the jungle of perspiring, everyday worker monkeys that had lost all motivation, vigour and vibrancy many years ago and managed to make it to the elevator just as the doors began to close. After struggling with the revolving door marking the daily discharge which he would then go on to inhale the polluted New York, afternoon air that he was so accustomed to.

And there she was; as radiant as ever. He couldn't stop the eager grin from dominating his entire face, no body, even if he desired so. His hand hovered over Natasha's shoulder, about to tap on it from behind when she swatted it away without even turning to look at him. Clint chuckled.

"Right on the ball as always, Tashy."

"A pain in the ass as always, Barton." She retorted in her usual no-nonsense tone.


	2. Chapter 2

There's many things you could say about Clint but the first that enters my mind is 'persistent'. He isn't aware that I know this but he'd watch me in his nest atop the law firm right next to his work place. And every evening when he was released from work he'd always try and catch me off guard. A man of routine, I guess. I'm not sure what he wanted out of all this, it seemed like a colossal waste of time if you ask me. Actually, now that I think about it, a lot of things about him mystify me. If you asked me to give you a brief of Rodgers, for example, I could tell you _everything_. And not just the basics like 'a WWII lab rat turned war hero'. But more importantly _what makes him tick_. I don't think he even knows this himself, but every time he thinks of Peggy he will begin to hum the melody of Arty Shaw's Stardust. But Clint… I-I just don't know. It's like his glasses are a firewall preventing me from hacking into his core. It infuriates me. Nothing he does makes sense; he has millions of dollars and yet he _chooses_ to shack himself up in that boxy, grungy apartment that he shares with that scum bag Wilson. And the way he looks at me…I've never seen anyone else look at me that way. Is he scrutinizing me? Or is he mocking me? I really don't know. But when I felt him touch my shoulder, I couldn't help but smile. I hated smiling. I hated feeling. _This feeling. _I'd tried my absolute best to blot them out and I'd succeeded, like everything else I do. But he managed to make it crumble with such a gentle graze.

"Right on the ball as always, Tashy." The way he said my name…I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. But I wasn't about to let catch on. I refuse to participate in his childish game.

"Pain in the ass as always, Barton."

"Take it or leave it, Romanoff." He stood moved so that he was standing directly in front of me now.

"So, care to join me for a coffee?" The delivery of these words were accompanied with a slick grin and a seductive wink. Of course I was going to refuse.

"Alright..fine then." No. That is _not _what I meant to say at all. Damnit, Natasha. Pull yourself together. But his face lit up. I guess that means he was glad I complied?

So we sat of opposite sides of a small, round, glossy, wooden table whilst he eyed me up.

"Clint, what _are_ you doing?"

"Wondering why you didn't ask me that sooner." God. He is so irritating. Yet…I couldn't help but feel something there. A spark, that if given even the slightest bit of fuel, could ignite into something beautiful and unpredictable. I detested situations that were out of my control.

"Well, Nat, you wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"Woah, hey. Miss Russian Assassin has an attitude, excuse me!"

"Yup. Excuse you." He offered his hand out to me, in a dramatic attempt to get me to follow. Nonetheless, I took it. With an extremely unenthusiastic sigh, though. Of course. As I did so, a smile diffused across his face. Not his usual playful, seductive smile but one that just seemed to take my breath away. Ugh. What am I saying? Maybe I accidentally inhaled some of that joint Tony was smoking earlier.

He didn't let go of my hand. He had such a gentle grasp, which you wouldn't expect for someone as well built as Clint. I had no idea where he was taking me. The only guess I could make was his apartment but I doubt he'd try a cheap trick like that on me. I finally got it. He had taken me to the Ballet. The only part about myself as an individual and _not_ a Black Widow that actually remains.

"How'd you kno-"

"I saw you dancing in your apartment the other day."

"You're such a stalker, Barton." I just couldn't help but turn bright red. He'd found my weakness and taken advantage but I just didn't seem to care. All I wanted was to live in this moment forever. He saw it too. He didn't say anything, just pulled me into his arms, my face buried in his muscular chest.

"Only for you, Natasha."


End file.
